


Banana Pancake Trail

by FrostyEmma



Series: Travels on a Lonely Planet [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bottom Sam Wilson, Comfort Sex, M/M, Making Love, Mild Hurt/Comfort, POV Character of Color, POV Sam Wilson, Past Riley/Sam Wilson, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Road Trips, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Friendship, Slice of Life, Thailand, Top Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-24 02:09:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8352169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrostyEmma/pseuds/FrostyEmma
Summary: “Hey.” Steve huffs against the back of his neck. “You’re not a hipster if you actually were into everything before anyone else.”

  “Dude.” Another smile flits across Sam’s mouth. “Can you please not remind me that I’m sleeping with someone old enough to collect Social Security checks?”
While on the run in northern Thailand, Sam and Steve manage a few stolen moments of contentment. And banana pancakes.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kyburg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyburg/gifts).



They’re up in northern Thailand now, in a dusty, yet pretty little village called Pai. The closest big city is three and a half hours away on winding, mountainous roads that the van hugged very tightly the entire way up.

Too tightly.

Goddamn, too tightly, and Sam isn’t quite ready to think about how they’re going to get back down the mountain. 

But anyway, Pai is the kind of place Sam’s older sister would call “cute.” Three dirt roads lined with shops and restaurants and little mom n’ pop hotels make up the entirety of the downtown. Walk five minutes, and there’s a river lined with tiny little huts made of thatched straw.

The artist in Steve is charmed by them, and Sam points out that they’re for tourists. So tourists can feel like they’re getting an “authentic” Thai experience. Even though most Thais live in concrete block apartments these days.

“But no one wants to pay for concrete blocks, right?” Sam explains. “They want to feel like they’re getting a piece of the ‘real’ Thailand.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “And by real…?”

“They mean, ‘not modern,’” Sam finishes. “Apparently tourists like to imagine the rest of the world doesn’t have internet or air conditioning or even contemporary building materials.”

They end up paying for two nights in their very own thatched straw authentic Thai experience anyway. After all, it’s the only game in town. 

The only game in town comes with shared bathrooms. Also made of straw, and a short walk from their hut. It’s bearable though. The weather is warm, as are the people, and hey, no one’s hunting them down. 

No one even pays them much of a second glance, really. Pai’s the kind of place that attracts a lot of white college kids in dreadlocks and baggy fisherman’s pants, up in the area to take expensive ten day meditation courses and spa retreats. They can be found in every corner of Pai, wandering up and down its few streets, taking selfies with the locals and partying hard in the bars specifically designed to attract them. 

Pai also has its fair share of old white dudes who seem forever stuck in their Woodstock days.

“Hippies?” Steve asks.

Sam shrugs. “Trying to keep their best years forever alive.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure if I’m glad I slept through the 60s,” Steve says, and then they go off to find breakfast. 

Thailand has been real good to them so far. 

They’ve been in Thailand a few weeks now. Being fugitives is tiresome work, and Steve’s got it in his head that they’re still going to be Avengers, they’re going to reunite (specific) members of the team somehow, and that they’re going to fight the Accords.

They’re also going to restore truth, justice, and morality to the universe.

Probably.

Honestly, Steve says a lot of stuff, and yeah, most of it’s good, but he hasn’t stopped talking about it since they left Barnes in the freezer back in Wakanda a few months ago, and they could both use a break before they’re broken.

They find a quiet, shady restaurant, populated with a few grizzled old hippies and two hungover college kids wearing sunglasses, and Sam promptly orders himself a strawberry smoothie before he’s even fully settled into his seat. He knows they’ll have it, and damn, they’re good. He’s been drinking strawberry smoothies all the way through Thailand, and they haven’t failed him yet.

Steve flips open the menu. “Banana pancakes.” He smiles. “Again.”

Sam studies his own menu. There’s other stuff on offer, too: typical tourist fare of granola and yoghurt and eggs, but yep, right at the top, there’s banana pancakes topped with either brown sugar, butter, or coconut jam.

He’s gotten a real taste for the coconut jam, has already been thinking about how many jars he can reasonably stow in a backpack while still having room for the basic necessities. (Though the coconut jam is rapidly reaching basic necessity status.)

“What’s with the banana pancakes?” Steve sits back, a perplexed expression on his face. “It doesn’t feel like a very Thai food, but they’re everywhere.”

He’s not even being hyperbolic with that one. They’ve seen banana pancakes listed on every breakfast menu they’ve come across over the past few weeks. Of course.

“Dude.” Sam grins. “We’re on the Banana Pancake Trail.”

“Banana Pancake Trail?” Steve raises an eyebrow, but he ends up smiling back at him. “I can tell you’re not making this up.”

“I’m not making this up,” Sam confirms, but before he can continue, the waitress comes back with a strawberry smoothie for Sam and an orange juice for Steve. 

Sam takes a long pull on the smoothie, and it’s perfect. Perfect strawberry to yoghurt ratio, just the right amount of sweetness. He’ll be ordering another before the meal is done.

“You don’t have to get more banana pancakes,” he says around the straw. “You can get your protein in if that’s what you’re feeling.”

“Eh.” Steve shrugs. “When in Thailand…”

They both order banana pancakes with coconut jam, though Steve orders some brown sugar on the side. Dude likes to mash the sugar into his pancakes for some sort of jammy, sugary, banana-filled mess. 

“So?” Steve says after their breakfast dishes have been cleared away and they’re each working through their second drinks. “Banana Pancake Trail?”

Sam chuckles, sets his drink aside, and settles back in his seat. “It’s the modern version of the Hippie Trail.” Off Steve’s raised eyebrow, he continues. “So back in the 60s and 70s, all the cool kids were traveling around India and Pakistan, Syria and Iraq and Afghanistan. All feasible travel locations in those days. Afghanistan was a hot tourist spot among the college crowd.”

Steve blows out a puff of air. “Things have changed.”

“Word.” Sam picks up his drink again. “So the modern version of that is the so-named Banana Pancake Trail. Unofficially named of course, and definitely implying that it caters to tourists who need their specific home comforts, like pancakes and pizza and pasta.” 

Steve sips at his orange juice. “And spa retreats.”

“You’re catching on.” Sam ticks off his fingers. “Thailand, Cambodia, Laos, pretty much all of Southeast Asia, parts of China. They all make up the Banana Pancake Trail.”

He waits a moment, then decides, fuck it, he’s throwing it out there.

“Riley and I did it some years back.” He says it pretty casually. “We traveled through southern China, all up and down Vietnam, and then crossed over into Cambodia. Boy decided we needed to do some camping on a beach in Cambodia. That would be our ‘authentic Cambodian experience,’ and that’s a story that ends with us almost drowning in our tent at three in the morning.”

It took Sam three years, and no small amount of therapy, before he could talk about Riley without breaking down into tears or falling apart with anger or rage at his own horrified, impotent helplessness. And now…?

Now the pain is still there, will likely always be there, but he can talk about Riley and not feel that black wall of grief threatening to overwhelm him. He can sit there in a cafe in Thailand, enjoying a fine drink and even finer company, and talk about Riley - and their dumbass exploits - with a small smile on his face.

It’s not a bad feeling, and one that was a long time coming.

“Well, finish the story.” Steve grins. “You can’t drop something like that into the conversation and then not finish it.”

Sam snorts. “Right, so here’s the story of two dumbass Americans who didn’t ask the locals about high tide before pitching their tent…”

\---

The midnight sky is inky black and cloudless and vast, and the moon is so bright white as to be blinding. They’re both wearing goggles though, and their earpieces are top grade, so they can hear each other perfectly over the rush of the wind.

Standard extraction - in, out, done - nothing they haven’t executed dozens of times before, and they’ve already started talking about their next trip. They’ve got a couple weeks of earned leave coming up, and they’ve been kicking around ideas. Maybe London, maybe Tokyo, or maybe Sam will finally drag Riley’s pale ass home to meet the parents again.

The RPG slams into Riley’s side, and then he’s falling, spinning and falling, faster and faster and-

Sam jerks awake with a strangled sob. Everything is dark and stuffy and choking, and he can’t breathe, he can’t see, he gropes around blindly, but he doesn’t know what he’s looking for.

A pair of strong arms are around him suddenly. A voice is in his ear, shushing him softly. “I’m right here,” Steve whispers. “We’re right here.”

Sam breathes. Can’t find the words yet.

“It’s okay,” Steve continues. “We’re both right here. In our trendy straw tourist hut. That we paid fifty dollars for. Because we have questionable taste.”

Sam manages a shaky smile. “Man, it was either that or get in another van, and I’m not ready to hug those mountains again.”

“So here we are.” Steve’s breath tickles his ear. “Safe. Warm. Trendy.”

“You’re definitely trendy.” Sam’s breathing is beginning to steady. “So trendy, you’re veering on hipster.”

Banter he can do. That part is easy.

“Hey.” Steve huffs against the back of his neck. “You’re not a hipster if you actually were into everything before anyone else.”

“Dude.” Another smile flits across Sam’s mouth. “Can you please not remind me that I’m sleeping with someone old enough to collect Social Security checks?”

“Well, now who’s the one with questionable taste?” Steve snorts. “I robbed the cradle. What’s your excuse?”

Sam can’t help himself. “Your big dick,” he says flatly, and Steve laughs and hugs him more tightly.

He closes his eyes for a moment, listening to the rain cascade against the roof of the hut. It’s a hard rain, a heavy rain, and he finds comfort in its steady cadence.

And in Steve’s arms, but he hopes that goes without saying now.

“Riley?” Steve finally asks.

Sam nods against him. “Riley.”

“You want to talk about it?” 

A beat, then, “Nah.”

Sam’s talked about Riley before. He’ll talk about Riley again. But right now, he’s content to accept the physical comfort Steve is offering him and allow the rain to wash the rest away.

Steve presses a kiss to the back of Sam’s neck. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”

Sam shifts around in Steve’s arms so that they’re facing each other. He can dwell on horrific bullshit or he can cuddle. The second option sounds a lot more gratifying for all involved.

“So am I.” He returns the embrace, threading his fingers into Steve’s hair. “Even if these trendy ass huts are costing us fifty bucks a night.”

“These trendy ass huts are pretty cozy.” Steve trails a line of kisses from Sam’s forehead to his nose, landing softly on his lips. “And that rain is getting me going.”

Sam rolls his eyes. Maybe Steve can’t see it, but he can hear it in his voice. “Man, anything gets you going. I’ve never met an old man with such a raging libido.”

Steve chuckles, but he’s already grinding his hips against Sam. And dammit, Sam can’t help but return the gesture.

He can dwell on horrific bullshit or he can make love in a trendy tourist hut under cover of heavy rainfall.

Well, come on now. 

They make love slowly and quietly, Sam’s legs scissored around Steve’s waist, their fingers entwined. They make love to the sound of the rain sheeting steadily against the hut.

“I’m here. I’m right here,” Steve whispers as he slides into Sam, as Sam clenches all of himself around Steve. “I’m not going anywhere.”

They make love, a tangle of hot, sweaty bodies wrapped around each other, a constant stream of promises flowing between them. 

“I’m here, I love you, I’m here.”

Steve comes gasping Sam’s name, and Sam rattles apart with a moan muffled only by the downpour.

They make love again, and then Sam drifts off, sweaty and naked and spent, coiled around Steve and content that things are okay for now.

\---

They sleep in the next morning. 

Eventually Sam manages to locate a pair of pants and pull them on. He drags a shirt over his head, considers himself dressed enough, and ends up standing on the bamboo porch attached to their hut and watching the world go by on the other side of the river.

Judging by the position of the sun, it’s about noon, but he can’t be bothered to check.

Steve joins him not too long after. He looks beautifully rumpled, and Sam takes a moment to appreciate the full package. 

“So.” Steve always sounds unreasonably chipper no matter what time they wake up, no matter how long they’ve stayed up the night before. “Breakfast?”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “Try shower first?”

Steve shrugs. “If we must.”

A smirk flits across Sam’s lips. “I’ll make it worth your time.”

Without missing a beat, Steve throws the door of the hut open. “Just let me grab the soap and the towels.”

The shower takes much longer than usual and requires an extra rinse, but who’s keeping track?

Satiated and clean and properly dressed, they end up on the porch of a cafe overlooking the dusty main street. It’s past noon, but Sam orders his strawberry smoothie, Steve gets his orange juice, and they make a show of deciding whether to order breakfast or lunch.

“I mean, we’ve already eaten a lot of banana pancakes,” Steve says. “We’ve probably had our fill.”

“And the _pad see ew_ is looking pretty good.” Sam taps at the picture on the menu. “It has noodles. And Chinese broccoli.”

“And chicken,” Steve adds. “Have to get our protein in.”

Sam nods. “This is true.”

The waitress comes, and they each order a banana pancake with coconut jam and brown sugar on the side for Steve.

“I mean, hey.” Sam takes that first bite of pancake. “We’re on the Banana Pancake Trail, after all.”

They’ll be okay, he thinks. 

Sure, they’re on the run, and yeah, Steve has crazy ideas about getting the band back together and being Avengers and fighting the Accords, while also restoring truth, justice, and morality to the universe. 

But they’re together. They have each other.

They’ll be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE THE FIRST  
> Written for Kyburg as part of the Marvel POC Fanworks Exchange. She requested Sam/anyone, that I was nice to the characters, and that I mix up some timelines. 
> 
> Sam is a joy to write and easy to love, so the first and second parts were easy. The third request was a bit trickier, and I hope the brief flashback and discussion of Riley fits the bill if you squint hard enough. Enjoy!
> 
> NOTE THE SECOND  
> Comments, feedback, and suggestions for other vacation destinations for Sam and Steve are warmly welcomed, valued, and appreciated!


End file.
